


The Invitation

by storiesinthedark



Series: The Parties [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dinner Parties, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Post-Mary's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesinthedark/pseuds/storiesinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unsure of the reason for the tension when John moved back in to 221B Baker Street, John confronts Sherlock to find an invitation to a dinner party at Mycroft's to be the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fyliwion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyliwion/gifts).



> Written with the following prompt for the the 2014 Holiday Exchangelock. Not betaed or brit picked. My apologies on that front. All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Prompt: Formal settings, not established relationships, first time- perhaps something requiring dressing up and realizing they're in love. I would love maybe a "faking relationship" turning into a real one or faking a couple to get out of an awkward scenario or something similar. Something akin to romantic comedies but with an added flair of danger.

**_13 December 2016_ **

John looked up at Sherlock, his breathing heavy and harsh. He grabbed hold of the bedsheets, feeling the smooth cotton between his fingers, and took a deep breath as Sherlock continued his steady thrusting. He felt the stirring of his orgasm growing in his belly and he whimpered slightly as the feeling grew more intense.

He closed his eyes for a moment, memories from the past two days replaying in his mind. He opened them again and his eyes met Sherlock's intense grey stare. Unable to turn away, John took a deep breath and ran his tongue over his lips. He tried to hold on for a little longer, but he knew that it just wasn't possible.

Sherlock smirked and increased his pace. He reached down, wrapping his long fingers around John's throbbing cock and stroked gently up and down twice, watching as John lost himself over the edge.

John bit his lip, trying to suppress a loud and gluttonous moan, as long spurts of come ran over Sherlock's hand and on to his belly. Sherlock chuckled, not breaking his pace. He removed his hand from John’s now overly sensitive cock and ran his fingers through John’s hair.

'Fascinating,' Sherlock said.

He thrust into John two more times, slowing with each thrust until finally he was coming. Then, he collapsed onto John in exhaustion. They stayed pressed together, Sherlock still inside of John and both of them breathing heavily. Finally, John reach up, brushed a curl from Sherlock’s face and ran a hand down his briefly down his back.

'This was not at all what I had in mind,' John whispered, brushing his tongue over his lips once again.

'And what had you been expecting?' Sherlock replied.

\----

**_Yesterday_ **

John Watson, a man of medium build with dishwater blonde hair and who considered himself nothing more than average until nearly four years ago, stood on the street outside of 221 Baker Street. He stared up at the large and intimidating black door bearing the numbers, replaying in his mind just how he had happened into this very situation.

It had been a simple comment to his friend, Mike Stamford, in the park about needing a flatmate and then spiral of events had begun. He found himself moving in with one, Sherlock Holmes, rather quickly and soon he was joining Sherlock as they chased after criminals in London on cold, rainy nights. He found himself on crime scenes with the Met looking at cases that appeared unsolvable, and all the while blogging about it for his therapist and the world to read. Then, when he thought he had finally sorted out his life, he was burying his best friend, only to discover he wasn’t actually dead after all.

He had forgiven Sherlock by the time he had married Mary, but they had never been as close as they had been before Sherlock’s faked death. That was until Mary died nearly nine months ago and John had forced himself to move back into Baker Street.

John stared up at the door, and took a deep breath. He had only been back at Baker Street for a week, and Sherlock was no where to be seen. He had been keeping irregular hours, and quite obviously had been avoiding John, often locking himself in his room for hours at a time. John reached for the door knob and opened the door. He made his way up the stairs as quietly as he could, avoiding the second step from the top, which he knew had the tendency to creak.

As John entered the flat of 221B, he stopped abruptly, looking around at the more-than-normal chaotic state of the flat. Sofa cushions were overturned, books laid on the floor opened to random pages, and of course, Sherlock Holmes, the dark haired, tall and angled man that he was, was opening up every cabinet in the kitchen.

‘Did you take them?’ Sherlock asked, his attention still focused on the cabinet in front of him.

‘Did I take what, Sherlock?’ John asked. He took off his coat and hung it on the hook just inside the door, careful to avoid any of the items on the floor as he stepped inside the flat.

‘My cigarettes, John!’ Sherlock yelled. ‘Mrs. Hudson!’

John shook his head. ‘Sherlock, you haven’t had any of them in the flat for the last week. You purged them all when I moved back in, remember?’

‘I was a fool! I need them John! Mrs. Hudson!’ Sherlock slammed the cabinets and stomped toward the sofa, his plaid dressing gown trailing behind him.

‘No, you don’t. Jesus, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?’ he said. His brow furrowed together and bit down on his bottom lip. 'I've been meaning to...Sherlock are you even listening to me?'

'No,' Sherlock responded. He slammed another cabinet door and flopped down into one of the kitchen chairs.

It took John a moment to contemplate and run through his current list of options in his mind before he moved into the kitchen and took up the chair across from Sherlock.

'Care to explain what all of this is about?' he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sherlock remained silent, his head resting under his mess of black curly hair on the kitchen table among what looked to be a petri dish of mold. They’d be having words about that at a later date, John mentally noted.

'Sherlock,' John said, his voice gentler than before. 'I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.'

'What makes you think I need help?' Sherlock snapped. He sat upright and stared at John, grey eyes trying to pierce John's skin.

'Really? You're unbelievable sometimes,' John responded. He quickly stood from the table to head toward his room on the second floor. He hadn't made it far when Sherlock called out.

'Wait,' Sherlock said, his voice gentle, pleading.

'Why?' John asked. He stopped, but refused to turn and face Sherlock.

'Because I do need your help,' he responded.

'My help?' John asked.

'Yes, John,' Sherlock said. 'I...need your help.'

'I'm listening,' he said, crossing his arms and turning on Sherlock.

'The thing is...You see,' he began, dropping his arms to his side and beginning to pace. 'Mycroft is having a dinner party and he's obligating me to attend.'

'Okay. I'm still not seeing how you need my help here,' John said.

'He said I had to bring a date and I may have said that I would bring you.'

John stared at him, confusion beginning to manifest on his face.

'Me? Why me? We've barely spoken since I moved back in,' John stuttered.

'Because...I don't have anyone else John. Please. Will you pretend to be my date to appease Mycroft?'

'Fine. But, when this is all over we need to have a talk.'

'Okay.'

'Now, when is this party?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Of course it is.'

\---

**_Earlier This Evening_ **

John stared at himself in the mirror and sighed. This was the last thing he had intended to wear to a party, but upon Sherlock's insistence, he gave in. He never saw himself wearing suits. He thought they made him look like he was trying too hard.

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it to the side. He then turned and was startled to find Sherlock standing so close behind him.

He looked Sherlock up and down and he admired the way the simple black suit he wore was tailored to fit him.

'Do you need something?' he asked, trying to catch his breath.

Sherlock smiled. 'You look...nice,' he replied.

'Oh. Thank you,' John responded. 'I wasn't quite sure about the fit of the suit, but apparently you can just look at me--'

'And recognize your size. Yes,' Sherlock interrupted. 'If you are about ready, we should probably be off. Mycroft will be calling if we don’t arrive soon and I would prefer to speak with him as little as I possibly can.'

'Right. Let’s go then,' John replied.

They made their way from the flat to the black car that Mycroft had sent and soon they were pulling up outside of a large white marble house just outside of the city. The stairs leading to the large oak door with the brass door knocker reminded John of those found leading to the entrances of government building, which after he thought about it for a moment more did not seem out of place for Mycroft. He was, after all, the British government.

The car pulled into the circular drive and a man in a valet’s uniform opened the door. John looked back at Sherlock for a brief moment before exiting.

He stood in silence, staring up at the house before Sherlock appeared next to him and placed his arm around John's lower back.

'Awful isn't it?' Sherlock muttered in John's ear.

'Not at all surprising,' John responded.

'Shall we?' Sherlock asked, smiling.

'Why not?' John responded. He took a deep breath and let Sherlock lead him up the stairs and into the house.

Inside the house, John stared up at the large oil paintings in golden frames that hung on the stark white walls.

'Don't mind the dead relatives,' Sherlock said. 'Mycroft likes to show them off. This way.'

Sherlock held out his hand and John took it. Then, they proceeded through the hallway and into the main dining room, where other guests in elegant evening gowns and perfectly tailored suits were gathered and chatting amongst one another. They navigated their way through the crowd to find Mycroft holding court.

'Ah, Sherlock. I see you and John arrived safely,' Mycroft said upon their approach.

'We did,' Sherlock responded.

'Hello, Mycroft,' John said. He looked around at the gathered crowd, though he did not recognize anyone.

'John,' Mycroft responded, a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth as he spoke.

'We're only staying for dinner Mycroft and then it's back to Baker Street,' Sherlock spat out. His eyes narrowed on Mycroft and then he placed his hand on the small of John's back and led him away to find their seats at the table.

Sherlock pulled the chair out for John and waited for him to sit before sitting himself. John looked around at the other people in attendance, all of whom were still standing around the outer edges of the large dining room talking with one another.

'How long do you expect we will be sitting here before dinner is served?' John asked.

'Fifteen minutes, I suspect. Mycroft isn't one to start meals late. We were the last to arrive, so I don't expect him to hold off much longer.'

'Right. Was it weird that Mycroft was smiling a bit at me?'

'He's acting on the assumption that we are dating.'

'But, why would he do that? He likes facts and I know you told him we were, but I assumed Mycroft would just look at me and know that it was all a lie.'

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked away from John. 'I don't try to understand my brother any more than absolutely necessary. Oh look, Lestrade is coming this way.'

'Lestrade?' John turned to look over his shoulder in the direction of Sherlock's gaze and sure enough, Lestrade, smile big and friendly, was walking toward them. He pulled out the chair across from John and took a seat.

'Didn't expect to see you here,' Lestrade said. 'How are you?'

'Fine,' John responded. 'Been a confusing evening and I'm sure it's only going to get worse, but otherwise fine. What are you doing here?'

'I'm here with Mycroft,' he paused for a moment. 'Heard you moved back to Baker Street.'

'Yes. I did. Needed to start over again. Can't seem to escape the place entirely.'

The conversation continued with pleasantries and small talk between the two of them while Sherlock continued to look away from John and keep his distance. They talked about Lestrade's latest cases and carefully avoided the subject of Mary and her sudden death. Soon the other guests began to gather round the long table, locating their names on the table cards. Lestrade moved to his assigned seat and dinner was served.

It surprised John at how uneventful the dinner had gone. He thought that there would at least be an argument between Sherlock and Mycroft, but the two sat at opposite ends of the table and ignored each other entirely. There was no talk of murders, and no murders that they were aware of at that very moment that needed to be solved. In some ways, the simple normality of the dinner was unnerving.

After dessert and coffee in the sitting room, which was also very normal, John and Sherlock said their goodbyes to Mycroft and Lestrade and made their way toward the door and the car that awaited them in the drive way.

'I thought we were only staying for dinner?' John teased as they both slipped into their seats.

'Mycroft loves cake, which means that dessert is always the best part of any party he throws. Wouldn't want to miss that,' Sherlock responded.

'Right.'

They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive back to Baker Street.

When they arrived back at Baker Street, they both climbed out of the car and made their way up the stairs that led to the flat. They opened the door and Sherlock immediately hung his coat on the nearest coat hook and began to walk toward his room. John stood in the doorway, watching Sherlock's every move.

'Where are you going?' John asked.

'Where does it look like John? You have eyes,' he snapped.

'Excuse me?' John began. 'I believe I did you a favour and now we need to talk. We had a nice time at the dinner. What’s going on?'

John slipped out of his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. Sherlock stopped outside of the bathroom door, his eyes closed. He took a deep breath. John approached him from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Why have you been avoiding me?' John asked.

'John, I would really recommend that you let me go,' Sherlock said, tension obvious in his voice.

'Alright,' John said. He pulled his hand back, letting it hang by his side. 'That's still not an answer to the question. Why have you been avoiding me?'

John stared at Sherlock's back, biting on his lower lip. Silence hung throughout the room for several minutes before John spoke again.

'Do you not want me living here anymore?' he asked.

'No,' Sherlock shot back immediately. 'That's not it.'

'Then what is it, Sherlock? It can't be that bad,' John said, a hint of frustration making its way into his voice.

But, Sherlock refused answer and the silence returned.

John tapped his fingers against the side of his leg and then squeezed his hands into tight fists. He took a deep breath and then turned away. 'That's fine,' he said. 'If you don't want to tell me what's wrong, you don't have to. I'm going to bed. I'll see you when I see you.'

His first step toward the stairs leading to his room were tentative. When Sherlock didn't stop him, John moved at a more normal pace. Within moments, a hand grabbed John’s wrist, bringing him to a stop.

'Are you sure you want to know?' Sherlock asked.

John hesitated for a moment. 'Yes.'

Sherlock pulled at John's wrist, turning him around and then pushing him up against the wall just inside the kitchen door. Sherlock pressed in close and whispered in John's ear.

'I can't get you out of my head, John. From the moment you moved in, to the moment you married Mary, to the moment you moved back in, you have been the only person who I have ever cared about.'

John smiled. 'Is that it? You're in love with me?'

Sherlock leaned back and met John's eyes. 'Yes.'

John ran his tongue over his bottom lip and took a deep breath. 'Well, I love you too.’

'What?'

'You heard me Sherlock Holmes. I didn't realize it until tonight, but there it is. Now what are you going to do about it?'

Sherlock smirked. 'I have an idea.'

He leaned in and kissed John. It began slowly, a press of lips against one another. Sherlock quickly deepened the kiss. He pulled at John's bottom lip with his teeth and pulled John away from the wall and into his arms.

John breathed deeply, taking in the smell of Sherlock standing so close to him and kissing him for that matter. He returned the fervour with which Sherlock kissed him, then he pulled back, breaking the kiss and stared at Sherlock breathless.

'Umm...well...' he muttered.

'I have even more ideas, if you'd like,' Sherlock replied.

'God, yes.'

John leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once again. Sherlock, then, took hold of John's shoulders and carefully moved them, still engaged in the kiss, through the kitchen toward his bedroom.

They leaned the door, John's weight pressing against Sherlock in an unusually familiar feeling. John ran his hand up and down Sherlock's side. He then reached around and turned the knob to the door. He pushed the both of them through and slammed the bedroom door behind them.


End file.
